Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 102 – Floor 9: Part 23

Mathew could see Mercy and the other Demon Lords speaking. Their lips moved, and by their reaction, Alivia and his allies didn’t like what they were saying. But he couldn’t hear anything besides the strange voice that whispered in his ear.

Despite the pain and the loss of blood, Mathew slowly turned his head to look behind him. He expected to see a stranger but was instead greeted by a friend.

Samuel knelt on the muddy ground beside him, a cocky grin on his face that Mathew hadn’t seen the man wear in life. His armour, as black as midnight and covered in the blood and filth of the Seventh Floor, still showed the signs of the final battle that had claimed his life.

“This isn’t real. You’re dead.” Mathew whispered in disbelief. But, even though he knew the figure before him couldn’t be genuine, Samuel didn’t fade away or disappear from sight. Instead, he chuckled loudly and shook his head.

“I am. And maybe this isn’t real, or perhaps it is. You have lost a lot of blood. You’re in quite a sorry state, Mathew. Not so Enduring, are you?” Samuel teased.

Mathew narrowed his eyes in anger at this false image of his deceased friend. Either someone was making a mockery of his deceased friend, or his own mind was playing tricks on him. But to what purpose?

“Ahh, Mathew. I meant what I said. What would Emily think of you? Kneeling here, bleeding out. Maybe you should take Mercy up on her offer? What harm could it do? Bend the knee, beg for healing. Maybe you’ll have some fun while you’re here. Kill a few of the locals and string them up for all to see. You’re a villain, after all; why fight it?” Samuel said.

Smiling, the man patted Mathew on the shoulder before standing once again and pacing in the small gap between Mathew’s companions behind him. No one on either side noticed Samuel amongst them.

Mathew squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the sight.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real!” Mathew hissed, wishing desperately for this to stop.

“Tut Tut Tut. If wishes were fishes, we’d all swim in riches. I’m hurt that you want me to leave.” Samuel mocked. Mathew opened his eyes suddenly to see that the ghost of his friend was still there, grinning down at him. His eyes flicked to the others, but they were all ignoring Mathew.

Worse, time seemed to crawl to a halt. The world's vibrant colours turned to grey, while all the sound was stifled and muted. Mathew looked around in wonder.

“Am I dead as well?” He said, and Samuel laughed loudly.

“Not yet. Not until I’ve said my piece. While I enjoy playing a trick occasionally, time waits for no man…even a god is bound to its endless march.” Samuel explained, gesturing around at the still world. He paused when Mathew didn’t speak and turned back to him.

“Figured it out yet? God….Trick… come now, you’re a mortal, but you aren’t stupid.” Samuel chided, and Mathew came to a sudden realization.

“Mischievous Depravity?” Mathew murmured, and Samuel broke out in the broadest smile yet. Throwing his hands out wide, he laughed and twirled.

“Ding Ding Ding! I knew you would figure it out eventually. Although, it's not entirely accurate. I’m more of an…echo, if you will. Less a god, more a figment of your subconscious based on the connection you have with a divinity. Its endlessly boring, what with the rules of the Tower has in place about ‘interference.’” The fake Samuel made air quotes with his fingers.

“Awful rules. I can’t believe why anyone would choose to abide by them. But, there are workarounds. A little piece of me, placed inside you, and voila! Your brain crafts the words and the image, while I only need to provide the intention of the message. No rules broken, no direct communication.” False Samuel seemed quite pleased with himself, although Mathew had no idea what he was talking about.

“You…aren’t the god. You can’t help me.” Mathew muttered in resignation. This was just a messenger, a figment of his imagination the god of Mischievous Depravity was using to pass along a message to him.

“No, I can’t. But they can. Hence, the purpose of why I am here.” False Samuel paused and stepped forward. Bending down, the knee of his black armour dug deeply into the mud, and the fake image of his friend leaned close to Mathew’s face.

“The god of Mischievous Depravity wishes for me to communicate an offer. Accept the mantle of ‘Apostle.’ Submit to them, and the power to overcome this floor will be yours.” False Samuel whispered enticingly.

“Apostle.” Mathew uttered almost silently.

“There has been a recent vacancy, and you would fit that role perfectly. The god of Mischievous Depravity has had their eye on you since the Seventh Floor.”

“The Seventh Floor. How? Righteous Subjugation was the only god there…” Mathew trailed off as a look of horror crossed his face. False Samuel smiled and winked.

“Not the only god. And, since you were the reason the vacancy exists, it’s only fitting that you fill it.”

“The Outer Deity. Mischievous Depravity is the Outer Deity!” Mathew hissed out, regretting it almost instantly as pain flooded his body.

“Nail on the head. Although, not so ‘Outer’ now.” False Samuel reached forward and flicked Mathew on the nose.

“So, make your choice. Become the Apostle of Mischievous Depravity; your wounds will heal, and you can send these Demon Lords packing. Dominate the locals, gain your reputation, and you’ll be off to see Emily in no time.” False Samuel offered.

“Emily. Where is she?” Mathew asked, his voice coming out in a gasp as he tried to stand.

“No idea. But they know.” False Samuel said, pointing to the sky above them. He smiled before looking back down at Mathew.

“I do have knowledge of one thing. Aside from the offer, Mischievous Depravity gave you another tidbit in case you weren’t interested. Emily is alive, although for how long, who can say?” False Samuel shrugged.

“Well, time waits for no man or god. And it looks like your time is up, Little Mathew. I did so enjoy our moment together, and I hope that it continues in the future.” False Samuel stood up and brushed the mud from his knee. With a cheeky grin, he waved and faded from sight.

Mathew felt something inside him leave, like a spark of light being smothered. The connection between himself and Mischievous Depravity that housed the ‘Echo’ bearing the message weakened as False Samuel departed.

Time regained its normal flow, and Mathew could hear the words being spoken around him once again.

“- choice. If we don’t, Mathew is going to die.” Alivia said quietly to Aster.

“Apostle.” Mathew whispered, ignoring everything around him as he thought about the offer. Sell his soul for power, but in return, he would live. And Emily needed him.

But could the words of False Samuel be trusted? Mischievous Depravity was the Outer Deity. How could Mathew trust his fate to a being like that? He had seen what it had done to Samuel and to all the other Adherents on the Seventh Floor.

Was it worth becoming a monster just for him to survive? Would Mathew, as an Apostle, be capable of saving Emily, or would it twist him into something unrecognizable?

Mathew held his hand against the wound on his stomach as he thought about his dilemma. It wouldn’t matter if the Wretch Ludvig wasn’t here. If he were eliminated, Mathew could heal, and they would have a chance of overpowering the lower ranks.

‘Time to choose, little Mathew.’ The voice whispered in his ear, tempting him with its offer.

“I won’t become an Apostle.” Mathew whispered, and, for the first time, Alivia heard what he was saying.

“An Apostle? What are you talking about?” Alivia asked in confusion. She looked at Aster, but the other woman shook her head in response.

“Mathew, you need to-” She was cut off as Mathew moved suddenly. Reaching into his inventory, he pulled out a dagger and tossed it forward in a smooth motion. No one expected him, an inch away from death, to unexpectedly attack, and that moment of hesitation bought him time to spend his remaining mana on ‘Catapult.’

The dagger that had been weakly tossed froze for a second in midair, then shot toward the Wretch Ludvig at blinding speed. The small, ugly man had only a moment to realize what was happening before the dagger buried itself into his shoulder.

Ludvig spun around and fell onto the ground with a scream. Whatever Blessing he was using to prevent the Potions and Elixirs Mathew had taken from working ceased its effect. Mathew felt a surge of strength as the powerful healing magics battled against Osmund’s blood magic.

With a shout, Mathew climbed to his feet and charged forward with the mace of Righteous Subjugation already emerging from his inventory.